


care symbols

by euphemea



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bickering, Cats, Established Relationship, Fluff, Laundry, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:14:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22276912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euphemea/pseuds/euphemea
Summary: “I hate to say this, but, uh… Did you do the laundry?” Sylvain stretches his arms out, letting the irreparably damaged cashmere ride up and bare his midriff. Shame Felix isn’t looking, Sylvain’s sure he makes for a very hot picture despite the ruined clothes. He’s only a little disappointed his boyfriend doesn’t have the courtesy to enjoy it.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 14
Kudos: 140





	care symbols

**Author's Note:**

  * For [akhikosanada](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akhikosanada/gifts), [postfixrevolution](https://archiveofourown.org/users/postfixrevolution/gifts).



> thank you to cha and kamu for dumb laundry headcanons, and to the sylvix server for enabling me to write not-angst.

“Hey, Fe?” Sylvain calls as he squints down at his sleeves.

There’s an irritated grunt, the sound of their shitty couch creaking, and angry footsteps. 

“What?” Felix says as he enters the bedroom, not bothering to look up from where he’s scratching Saber behind her ears.

“I hate to say this, but, uh… Did you do the laundry?” Sylvain stretches his arms out, letting the irreparably damaged cashmere ride up and bare his midriff. Shame Felix isn’t looking, Sylvain’s sure he makes for a very hot picture despite the ruined clothes. He’s only a little disappointed his boyfriend doesn’t have the courtesy to enjoy it.

He clears his throat, loud and to the point.

Felix continues to ignore him. He has his Soft Cat Smirk on, as pleased to be petting Saber as she is to be petted. Sylvain would normally appreciate the domestic and tooth-rotting tableau, but he does have a question to ask. 

Sylvain raises his voice. “Did you maybe throw in my sweaters with your jeans?” 

Felix groans, his eye roll audible. “Yes, why?”

Sylvain runs a hand down his face. “Babe, come on, you know I’ve said you can’t just throw everything in together.”

“It’s just laundry! They’re clothes, you wash them. You never see me complaining about—”

Felix finally looks up, annoyed at being taken away from his Most Important Task of giving the cat love, fuck off Sylvain. He doesn’t actually have to say it, Sylvain knows the exact tone of voice for distracting-from-cat crimes. Which, _hey_ , Saber is _their_ cat that they got when they moved in together, except no, unfortunately, she’s definitely Felix’s cat. Both she and Felix decided this, and Sylvain got no say. Sylvain’s learned to let her be when she’s begging Felix for attention lest she scratch him.

Felix squints at Sylvain like he’s done something offensive. “Did you do something to your shirt?”

Sylvain resists the urge to bang his head against something. Mostly because he’s not near any of the walls, and he likes how they’ve decorated their apartment, ornamental swords hanging dangerously over the head of the bed notwithstanding. “That’s what I was trying to say! You can’t use a normal cycle for wool or cashmere, it messes with the fibers.”

Saber bats at Felix’s hand where it’s paused, head-butting encouragingly to get more pats. He smiles at her, dropping his attention from Sylvain once again. The reaction is instantaneous, Saber’s purring full-force, her eyes squinted shut in that adorable contented way that Felix does sometimes too. 

“I don’t see what the big deal is, just get a new shirt. You can give this one to some kid, maybe one of Lysithea’s friends. You’re always prattling on about getting new clothes to impress people with anyway.”

“With what money? Felix, I can’t afford another sweater like this.” He can’t. His parents had cut him off when they’d moved in together, hoping that the sting of attempting financial independence would make him come groveling back, that it could convince him that Felix wasn’t worth it. 

That had been over two years ago, and he hasn’t asked them for a cent since.

Felix shoots him an annoyed glare over Saber’s head. “Just wear normal shirts. Or stop being prissy about needing a huge wardrobe so you can change your outfit every day.”

Sylvain wrinkles his nose. “I am _not_ wearing the same clothes every day until they smell like BO and death. Maybe _you_ can get away with it for more than two days, but I sweat more than you do.” 

He doesn’t know why they’re having this conversation again. It only ever goes in circles, because Felix is too stubborn to recognize that clean clothes are _a necessity_ and not something to just consider, once, before Sylvain confiscates the clothes he’s been wearing for five days straight and hides them at the bottom of their hamper. Not that it does that much good for getting Felix to wear variety. Felix’s wardrobe consists of seven nearly-identical black turtlenecks and a couple pairs of jeans, worn in a rotating manner that Sylvain tries desperately to keep up with so that things get washed routinely. 

“I don’t know why you think it matters. Who’s going to care if you wear the same clothes more than once?”

“I care.” 

“They’re just clothes,” Felix says. Saber meows her agreement.

“Yeah, but I need clothes. And I’m gonna _keep_ needing clothes if they keep getting wrecked because you don’t want to read the washing machine options.” 

He bites his lip. The last thing Sylvain needs is to get angry at Felix, even if it is his fault that Sylvain’s now out his favorite sweater as well as those two white shirts from last month that Felix had washed with new jeans. At least it had been mostly fine when Felix had washed all of Sylvain’s clothes together and every piece of his underwear had gotten the unmistakable red imprint of one particular pair of shorts. 

“I read the fucking options! It’s not my fault they don’t make sense. Who knows what ‘permanent press’ means or what kind of clothes are ‘delicate’? Why does the water temperature even matter, it’s just going through the cloth anyway!”

Sylvain really wishes the wall was within head-banging distance. Well, he can fix that. Sylvain walks to the wardrobe and pounds his head against it, only mostly dramatic. A small, aggravated yowl emanates from Saber with every thump.

“Fe, just… I don’t know! Look it up on your phone! You know how to use Google!” 

“Why do I need that?” Felix’s nose is wrinkled, and his disgust at the idea of asking for help should be almost endearing. It would be, in most other circumstances. Well, it still kinda is.

“I just… Felix, how many times am I gonna have to say the same things about doing the laundry? Am I just going to have to deal with this myself forever?”

There’s a flash of hurt in Felix’s face, immediately covered up by a glare. He pauses, breathing out a long-suffering sigh. “Look, I’m sorry I shrunk your sweater. If it’s such a big deal, we can ask Rodrigue for some money so you can go shopping.”

Saber hisses sympathetically at Rodrigue’s name.

Sylvain winces. Felix hates asking Rodrigue for anything. It’s not that his dad won’t give it to him, but it comes at the price of a lecture about “what would Glenn do if he hadn’t passed away in that tragic car accident when Felix was thirteen”. Rodrigue loves his living son, but sometimes he loves a ghost (and maybe also Dimitri) more.

If Felix is offering to talk to Rodrigue, then Sylvain’s really fucked up. Shit.

“No, that’s okay, we’ll figure it out.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry for hounding you about this.” 

He pushes off the wardrobe, scratching a hand through his hair. It’s not that big a deal. Felix is right, it’s just clothes, even if this was his favorite sweater. And who knows, maybe some kid will get better use out of it. Sylvain hasn’t been wearing it as much lately anyway.

There’s a meow from Felix’s arms and a flurry of movement. Saber’s apparently had her fill of attention and affection, and she leaps away, tail swishing haughtily as she makes her way down the hall, paying no mind to the humans she’s walking away from. She’s a tiny queen—the true master of the household and she knows it. She even has the landlady wrapped around her tiny paws. 

“Hey, Fe?”

Felix grunts.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have gotten so upset. It’s just a stupid sweater.” Sylvain offers him a slight shrug, making his way across the room to pull Felix into his arms. He lets the hug stay loose, lets Felix keep an out in case he’s really upset and needs his space. Sylvain still fucks up regularly, but he’s learned over the years that Felix will come back to him when he’s ready. They’re not going to be over because of something this small and silly.

Felix hugs back, his hands brushing against Sylvain’s still-exposed waist.

“Yeah, well… I’ll try to figure out the stupid machine. It just makes no fucking sense.” 

Sylvain laughs. “I’ll try to teach you. We can do it together next time.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

“Honestly, we probably should have started with that, but you kept saying you’d handle it.”

“Shut up.”

Sylvain presses a kiss to Felix’s forehead. “You’re so cute when you pretend you’re angry.”

“Fuck off.”

Another peck. “I love you.”

“Take the sweater off, you look ridiculous.” There’s the slightest hint of a blush betraying Felix. He thinks he’s sneaky, but Sylvain has always read him like the back of his hand, and it’s only gotten easier with time. 

“Oh. Is that right?” Sylvain’s smirking. He knows exactly how he looks, and he’s appreciating the reaction written all over Felix’s face. “Want to see me without it on, is that it?”

He steps back, fingers tracing at the hem, debating whether attempting a strip tease is worth it with a sweater that’s now two sizes too small. 

It rips, very loudly, when he pulls up on it. Saber meows in response from the kitchen.

A chuckle escapes Felix, then another. He’s laughing, full-throated and doubled over, hiding his expression behind a hand. It’s beyond cute. 

“I, uh, guess Lysithea’s friends won’t be getting anything?” Sylvain says, sheepish.

Felix snorts, the last echoes of his mirth still shaking through his body. “I guess not.”

He helps Sylvain out the tatters of the clothing, leaning up for a kiss once he’s finally free. Sylvain takes the opportunity to loop an arm around Felix’s waist, the other coming up to play with his ponytail. It’s soft, comfortable, not unlike the poor sweater before it became rags. Felix lets him pull him in further, their bodies pressed fully together.

Kissing Felix is always just coming home.

“Well,” Sylvain says, gracelessly kicking the door shut, “Where were we?”

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/euphemeas)!


End file.
